


Flaw in Your Code

by MadameReveuse



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Unhealthy Relationships, there's no smut in this fic but it is Discussed, yeah I'm really doing this now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 11:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameReveuse/pseuds/MadameReveuse
Summary: The universe is broken, and maybe so is the soulmate system, because this can't be happening.Or: Friedken is unholy and Should Never Be, and yet, what if.





	Flaw in Your Code

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this ironically, that's perfectly good and cool, because I did in fact write this ironically
> 
> Ken's POV, don't worry, I won't subject you to near 5000 words of Hugo's inelegant blubbering. 
> 
> A note: strictly speaking, the first thing Friedkin says to Ken is a greeting ("Hi"), but since Ken wasn't conscious to hear it, I reckon in the grand scheme of things it would not count. Leave me kudos or a comment if you've got something to say abt this indescribable piece of fic (stranger things have happened). In the end, I had fun writing it, and that's what counts.
> 
> A postscript: nothing of what I wrote on the subject of Dustin Milligan's abs is hyperbole. Seriously, go find a pic of the guy shirtless.

“You’re not the usual scientist. You’re a new…” Ken paused as the guy looking into his taxi made a weird, jerky arm movement as if to grab his left arm with his right hand, which looked incredibly goofy in that hazmat suit. Any air of professionalism that dude had been exuding was immediately cut short.

Ken went on anyway, trying to describe the bizarre situation he was in as best he could: that he’d been wrongfully detained, that he’d been here for over two months in dismal circumstances, that he didn’t have a _superpower, goddammit_ , and that he really, really needed to talk to whoever was in charge here. At which point the guy hesitated, shrugged, smirked and said the words.

“I’m in charge.”

Ken was baffled. Not just by the fact that the CIA would entrust command of a top-secret government facility to this meathead right in front of him but.

The words.

The goddamn _soul words._

Ken had never expected to find his soulmate in a government prison for psychics.

He couldn’t help it, he gaped a little. His eyes widened. He had to look mental. He felt it, too, seventy days cooped up in a taxi, with a dog, with guns on him, with scientists asking him inane questions, and now _this_.

Obviously, he’d spoken first, so the other guy had to have noticed too. Ken looked into his face (classically handsome, beautiful even, were it not for that facial expression of dumb stupid nothing) and could almost hear him thinking: this is weird. And: this can’t interfere with the job.

“So. How does your power work?”

_Jesus fucking Christ._

The guy had probably just said that to… to say anything at all. To bridge this sudden awkward chasm between them. That was Ken’s _soulmate_ right there. And Ken was this guy’s soulmate too. And here they were, captor and captive, which, Ken was beginning to think, wasn’t going to change anytime soon, mystical soul bond or no.

Inwardly, he sighed.

“I don’t have a power. Okay, I’m a tech guy. You know… computers.”

The man didn’t seem convinced. His next question was after Bart, of course it was all about Bart. Ken had tried, he had really, really tried to make the scientists here understand the deal with him and Bart, but they just…

“How does the dog work?”

Okay. _Ooookay_. His soulmate was really that stupid.

“How does the dog… work? Really? Look man, enough! Alright, you gotta start listening to me—"

And just then he felt the rattling pain of another electric shock course through him, just to hammer the point home. Whoever this guy was, the fact that he and Ken were a matched pair was not going to deter him from his mission.

“This is just like… such a bummer.”

By now Ken had to consciously keep himself from screaming. He was seriously bummed out himself, getting electric shocks and being hooked to an IV and having to listen to this idiot whine about his job as the head of a human experimentation program being _lame_ did that to you. But he knew that complaining would get him nothing at this point, except maybe shocked again.

He tried, nonetheless, to get through to the guy. Tried to explain what he had learned from Bart: that she and the people like her were connected to the fabric of reality, that they needed to be out in the world to do their thing, and that you couldn’t coop them up, or weaponize them, or make them solve your problems in any way… and hoped to get across that this applied to himself as well.

“So… you’re saying I need to expose them to each other?”

Ken seriously wondered how you could get this from that. And then, as he attempted to explain that he hadn’t been saying that at all, he got shocked again.

“Sorry. That was an accident.”

_You were an accident,_ Ken thought as his whole body convulsed with the force of the shock.

“Thank you,” the guy then said and gave him a very dorky finger gun before departing, deaf to the pleas Ken yelled after him. As the doors closed behind him, the lights went out.

 

* * *

 

Back in the dark, alone except for a corgi affectionately drooling on his leg, Ken pondered the recent development. He touched his right shoulder, where the words sat. _I’m in charge_ , in the blocky, careful handwriting of someone who rarely wrote anything. They had always been there, a bright white on his skin.

Ken had always found the soulmate system… interesting, from a programmer’s point of view. He had come to see it as a code of sorts, a code it would be interesting to crack, just to find out how it all worked. How were soulmates distributed? How did the... force, or the code, predict, of all things, the first words a matched couple said to each other upon meeting? How was it that soulmates always met, eventually?

Interesting, yes. But it was a detached sort of interest. His enthusiasm for uncovering the inner workings of the system had always preceded any concern with finding his own soulmate. With regard to himself, and the words imprinted on his shoulder, he had always taken a relaxed approach. It would happen when it would happen.

Now, in the most bewildering way, it had happened. His soulmate was the man in charge of the facility where Ken was currently held captive, and from what he’d seen of him, he also was a brainless, trigger-happy blond pest. And somehow Ken had to cope with it.

 

* * *

 

The blond pest came back the next day, still in that dumb hazmat suit. This time Ken only got one electric shock throughout the whole conversation, and he had his sights on the possibility of none in the future.

The guy didn’t ask about Bart this time, but Dirk Gently. Ken didn’t know a lot – or really anything – about what made Dirk Gently tick, but he wasn’t about to let the guy he still had trouble thinking of as his soulmate notice that. Talking to him was like… like trying to play chess against a pigeon. You never knew what the hell the stupid bird might do next, and it was near impossible to be reasoned with. But there was hope.

None of them mentioned the elephant in the room that was their mutual soul bond. But when Ken called the blond pest a _nice guy_ and said he didn’t want to see him lose his job, it seemed… believable. And, well, the guy was here again. Sure, he was claiming that there was no one else for him to turn to, but honestly? A soul bond made you biased. You ended up prioritizing soulmates, in the weirdest of ways.

Before long the blond pest, whose name he still hadn’t learned, was going to prioritize him.

 

* * *

 

Ken’s prediction came true startlingly quickly in the form of the blond pest (who had at least ditched the hazmat suit now), a handful of floppy disks, and the suggestion of “an inhouse sort of hush-hush deal”. This guy (whose name was turning out to be Supervisor Friedkin, no first name provided) seemed to really believe in Ken’s abilities as an IT guy. Or maybe, Ken thought as he gave Friedkin a discreet once-over, maybe he was putting his trust in Ken because he had a crush on him. They were soulmates, it wasn’t a stretch. Actually, as soulmate bonds went, theirs was the least… bond-y one that Ken had ever seen. Sure, sometimes soulmates were platonic, but this wasn’t _even_ that. Most bonded pairs Ken had seen had been pushing their tongues into each other’s mouths within minutes of finding each other. Now here was a thought… a thought Ken immediately dismissed, good lord he really had been in here for too long.

He pulled his mind out of the gutter and onto the floppies in his hands.

“Well, encryption on disks this old is definitely outdated,” he said, confident that Friedkin didn’t understand a word he was saying, but that he was sounding competent and trustworthy in that tech guy way. People trusted a guy who used jargon in a reassuring voice and was the only person with the power to fix their systems. “I mean, there’s a chance I could do it with the right equipment…”

Friedkin was suddenly very close, grabbing on to the door of the taxi like a lifeline.

“Okay. Yeah. Anything you need.”

Yikes. _Anything you need?_ Really? And oh shit, he was more handsome up close, somehow. All hard angles. But his hair looked soft and his eyes looked soft and his lips. Looked soft. Ken only had to lean in and…

No. Okay. This was getting weird. It seemed that Friedkin was not the only one who was letting this soul thing affect him. Ken shook himself out of it. Eyes on the prize, here, now.

“What is this stuff?” he asked.

“It’s… the… stuff, man, on the… subjects.” God, was he flustered or did he always stammer that much? “Marzanna…”

“Bart?”

“The whole… deal. All the people they used to keep in here.”

_Holy shit,_ Ken thought. He was momentarily speechless. Was this guy really just dropping top-secret intel into his lap? Just because Ken seemed somewhat reasonable and happened to be his soulmate? He couldn’t help asking.

“And you’re… gonna give me access to read all of that?” It was such a dumb idea. It was _such_ a dumb idea. Even Friedkin had to notice.

“Yeah,” said Friedkin. “As a… favor?” He cocked his head and made puppy eyes and Ken felt a white-hot roiling wave of… something within him. Secondhand shame, he hoped.

_Alright,_ he thought, _okay. This guy loves me. He does not know how to handle it. Let’s hope that I do._

“Can I get out of this taxi?”

 

* * *

 

Decrypting was slow, tedious work, but Ken didn’t mind. At least it was something to do. He would have appreciated getting out of the room, but apparently his new acquaintance only took one risk at a time. They’d had a bit of a discussion on whether or not Ken should actually read the files he was decrypting – it involved Friedkin covering Ken’s eyes with his hand at one point. But ultimately this was a debate that Ken had already won. For whatever reason, Friedkin seemed very averse to the idea of reading the reports himself. Right now he was hovering worriedly behind Ken’s chair like some sort of pale anxious ghost, blinking at the wall of text on the computer screen like a man with a profound distrust of the written word. He probably wasn’t _illiterate_ , Ken pondered. Maybe… hm, maybe dyslexic or something.

But why did he care? As long as it helped him.

“Is there anything in there about… disappearing?” Friedkin was saying. “Or… people who can disappear. Or… or people who can make other people disappear?”

Ken did a quick search.

“Yes, actually. There’s about four types of…” He interrupted himself to spare a worried glance at the other guy, who was starting to look seriously harrowed. He wasn’t pleased to feel a pang of actual concern in his chest. What was that for, hmm? Just because they happened to have that soul thing going on… well, it was no reason to get sentimental. But winning this guy over was important at present, so he asked, “Hey man, you doing alright? You look a bit agitated.”

“I got a lot going on! Man!”

Oh damn. A part of Ken definitely didn’t like the way that Friedkin’s voice broke. He forced himself to shove that part deep down inside. Once he found that Friedkin seriously had been motivated by a Captain America-esque idea to draft a team of psychic supersoldiers, that got easier.

He couldn’t be soulmates with someone that stupid. There had to be some glitch, some flaw in the code.

Ken was getting _tired_ of this.

But he had an act to keep up, and information to gain.

“What happened, man?” he prompted softly. “I mean, something must have happened.”

Friedkin actually got on one knee to tell his story. He reached out and put a hand on Ken’s shoulder and _okay_. That was what being touched by your soulmate felt like.

It wasn’t skin on skin, although that obnoxious part of Ken wished it was, but there was… something there. A tug, a _bond_. They could both feel it. They were both pretending really hard that there was nothing there.

He promised to help out with the files, and got some friendly pats for his trouble, and a pair of milky blue eyes staring up at him in gratitude. It almost made Ken feel bad for what he was about to do.

 

But only almost.

 

* * *

 

The files were beyond anything he had expected. Here he had thought that Bart was about the most supernaturally weird thing he would ever encounter but now… he learned that there were people, phenomena, and things out there that made Bart look mundane in comparison. And it was all connected. Everything was connected. It all connected… here. At Blackwing. Where all these individuals had been brought together once. And could be brought together again.

Not even Friedkin lying on the floor over there could ruin Ken’s mood.

Why was he on the floor anyway? He should get up.

Ken swiveled his chair around, looked the guy in the face and told him that he could help him. That he could find ways to have the psychics do what Blackwing wanted. That it would only work if he was let out of this room. “Because right now? As far as I can see? I’m the only one on your side.”

For a moment, they just stared into each other’s eyes.

What happened next was… regrettable.

Afterwards, Ken would never be exactly sure how it occurred. They both got up and one walked towards the other or perhaps they walked towards one another at the same time and met in the middle, and their lips collided, and the next moment Ken was backing Friedkin up towards the car until he was pretty much sitting on the hood and Ken stood between his legs kissing him and kissing him and endlessly kissing him. He could feel hands on his back, clumsily pulling him closer, so his own hands went into Friedkin’s hair, which felt waxy and stiff with product and not at all as soft as it looked. He was not a bad kisser, though; he tasted minty and maybe he could have him on the backseat, show him how to relax for once…

The spell was completely broken when Friedkin reeled his head back with a kind of choking gasp.

“I swallowed my gum,” he explained sheepishly.

Ken leaned against the hood of the taxi and groaned. They still had a loose grip on each other. It was... alright.

“This is a bad idea,” Friedkin muttered. Ken saw him glancing anxiously at the cameras posted around the room.

_For you, probably,_ Ken thought. Out loud, he said, “It _is_ on the security footage.”

He heard Friedkin curse under his breath. “This is just fucked up now. This is just so me.”

“You could get rid of the footage,” Ken said lightly.

“Right.” Ken started to count down in his head, three, two, one, “How do I do that?”

“I could do it for you,” Ken suggested. “If you gave me access…”

Ken didn’t end up getting access to the security cameras that day, but he knew he would soon. And when the time came, maybe he’d keep the compromising footage, save it on a secure hard drive for a rainy day… but probably he’d really just delete it. There were other, more elegant ways to gain influence here; he was pretty sure he’d never need to resort to leaking video evidence of Supervisor Friedkin making out with a subject. For now, he was quite alright with Friedkin keeping his job.

 

* * *

 

A day later, Ken’s efforts were already paying off. He was transferred to a real, comfortable bedroom, and Rapunzel right with him. Finally. No more sleeping in the car for any of them.

After a shower, a shave, a change of clothes and a good long nap in a real bed, Ken was starting to feel a lot more like himself. He could make some real plans in this room.

Currently, he was listing Friedkin’s errors.

This was the one downside to the room: it was a lot smaller than the one that still contained the taxi. Two guys in here didn’t have that much space to maintain a healthy distance. And said healthy distance would have been very conductive to Ken’s peace of mind. He could smell Friedkin’s damn cologne from here. He was wearing a robe – he was _only_ wearing a robe. He would’ve put real clothes on if he’d known that his… (captor? soulmate? ally? bane of his existence?) well, that Friedkin would be visiting. But then the guy had just breezed in and begun whining about his newest failure to keep his subjects contained, only taking cursory notice of Ken’s clean-up with a distracted “you look different”.

Ken wasn’t bothered about that. He had just obtained the same clearance level as Friedkin himself, just by asking nicely. And if he turned around now, Friedkin would be sitting on his bed. His soulmate, on his bed. Ready. Waiting…

_Oh stop already,_ Ken told himself. _That’s just dumb now._ But, well, why was it, actually?

From this room, on his brand-new state of the art equipment, Ken could not only access the files from Blackwing Mark I. He could access anything he wanted. Cameras, transmissions, reports, and the files concerning the staff. He had only skimmed those so far, as they weren’t as important as the files concerning the subjects. But familiarizing himself with the staff couldn’t hurt if he was to gain influence here. A few people had given him pause, most notably one Mr. Priest, whose file was just one mess of redacted lines, and Friedkin himself, of course.

He’d only had a brief look really. He’d learned that the guy’s first name was Hugo (how dorky), that he’d spent his entire adult life in the army, which in Ken’s opinion explained a lot, and that he was definitely and without fail Ken’s soulmate. The military was thorough on their files, and the content and placement of Sergeant Friedkin’s soulmate mark was noted along with hair color, height and all these other personal attributes that you had on your average personnel file. Better than dog tags, Ken supposed. Dog tags could be misplaced, but soulmate marks as a unique identifier worked well, if it came to it. Friedkin’s mark was on his left forearm, and it ran _“You’re not the usual scientist.”_

Up until now, there had been room for the possibility that all of this was just a coincidence, or Ken’s stressed mind conjuring things up. Now he knew for sure.

And, well, people usually… had sex with their soulmates. Not all people of course but… there was a part of Ken that wanted to. And why not? It would help his situation far more than it could hurt. He had nothing to fear from his bond with Friedkin. On the contrary, he wanted Friedkin bonded with him, dependent on him. He wanted to be indispensable.

So yeah, maybe he did go over to the bed. Maybe he did push Friedkin down and press their mouths together and tug on his clothes, of which he was wearing way too many. He took his jacket off first, then his tie, then his shirt. And god. Ken had never… well, he’d had his crushes like everyone else, a girlfriend in high school, a bit of a thing with a guy in college. But it had never been… high-priority. He hadn’t expected anything much in that department, and now he was in bed with a guy who looked like he should be a pinup on a wall in someone’s bedroom. And even then, he would’ve suspected photoshop to be involved. That someone actually had abs like that in real life was… bizarre. Just like this whole experience. Just like Ken’s whole life now was.

Then Friedkin noticed Ken’s attention, and grinned, and flexed.

_Insufferable_.

When they were finished (messy and quick and surprisingly sweet), Ken left him on the bed, put a jumpsuit on and contacted Mr. Priest.

 

* * *

 

Ken had very much looked forward to having a real, entire bed to himself, but he was beginning to think he never would, at least not in the near future. The bed was too small to share, and so was the other bed in Friedkin’s room, but somehow they had ended up in one or the other together for the last two consecutive nights.

Hugo quickly turned out to be a bit of an octopus when he was asleep, and Ken had woken up multiple times to being neatly wrapped up in his big arms. Not that he was complaining. He recognized intellectually that he was touch-starved. The last hug he’d gotten had been from Bart, more than two months ago.

They still hadn’t talked about the soulmate thing. It was too weird. Just silently being around each other, building this, well, that was alright. They had seen each other’s marks by now, along with all the rest, but bringing it up… would mean having that conversation, defining what their relationship was, and… it was just best not to, Ken opined.

Hugo was still obnoxious. He got up impossibly early for an honest-to-god morning workout. Ken didn’t know and didn’t want to know what that entailed. Did Blackwing have a gym? Did he just run a lap around the facility? Whatever it was, afterwards he stopped by Ken’s room, all tousled and glowing, reasoning that “Your shower’s better, dude, can I just have this”. He didn’t go as far as to sing in the shower but one time Ken had overheard him humming along to “Semi-Charmed Life” under his breath. One of his shirts was on Ken's floor. They had at one point shared a toothbrush.

Disgusting.

Ken now had the free run of the facility and some decent clothes at last. He hadn’t wanted to go for the man-in-black look like Friedkin did, especially since he still was very much not officially a part of Blackwing. He had anthracite gray slacks, a white shirt, and a fitting jacket, tie and dress shoes, and that worked for him.

What also worked for him was Mr. Priest. He was certainly a weird one, his status reports were not always extremely conclusive, and he sometimes had the slightly unnerving habit of laughing in the wrong places, but he wasn’t the deranged maniac Ken had feared him to be from the way Hugo talked about him.

(“I’ve seen guys like him in the army,” he had told Ken once, late at night, in a hushed tone. “Like, in combat? It’s guys like him make everyone look bad. Guys like him who like… do war crimes, just because… _just_ _because_. Guys who’ve got the deep-down crazies.”

It had also transpired that he was of the opinion that by rights, and before he went completely off the rails, someone should gun Priest down and make it look like an accident to the higher-ups later. When Ken had asked where that had come from, Hugo had very unconvincingly pretended to have fallen asleep.)

Ken however considered Priest a valuable asset. He wasn’t about to become the guy’s best friend, but he was… willing to build an amiable working dynamic. And Priest was not deterred by failure. He just kept going on with a smile. Which was a thing Ken found relaxing. He already had his hands full managing Hugo’s daily tantrums.

He really hated sometimes how the universe seemed to have cast him in the role of someone who spoke soothingly to erratic people with weapons. Also it was vaguely embarrassing and kind of just… bad to see a grown man on the verge of tears every damn day.

There was no way he could hope to get the concept of a pocket dimension across to Hugo, as Hugo openly rebelled against it, so he gave him something else instead, some small but morale-boosting victory in the form of project Lamia. That got two whole smiles and an enthusiastic hug out of his soulmate-but-not-boyfriend, and that was work well done, in a way.

Later it would cause another meltdown of the gun-wielding type, but that was just how things were in Ken's world now. It would also lead to Hugo to almost getting strangled and the capture of Mona Wilder, so all in all it was a productive event.

 

* * *

 

But Ken’s patience was wearing thin. A lot of things were happening, a lot of pieces set into motion, and he was starting to resent having to stop and explain things to Friedkin whenever there was something the guy didn’t understand, which happened about every ten minutes. He’d just gone behind Ken’s back to see Mona Wilder, but thankfully Ken had gotten there in time to do damage control. He was getting sick of having to put out Hugo’s fires. He was getting sick of having his decisions questioned by an idiot who really should be thankful for the guidance. Without Ken around, Hugo would’ve probably blown up the facility out of sheer incompetence by now.

Besides, Ken was slightly unsettled. He’d just attempted to explain the deal with project Moloch in as simple words as possible, which had still been too complicated for his companion. Sometimes it was as if they were speaking two different languages. Then, Hugo had asked why Lamia and the presumed entity from Wendimoor were looking for Dirk Gently, which Ken didn’t know, and he hated when Hugo hit on something Ken didn’t know. It made him feel like he was failing to do something he was supposed to do, and it made him feel like his control was slipping, just a miniscule bit, but slipping nonetheless. Also, very subtly, it made him feel… threatened. Somewhere in that useless mass of cotton candy that passed for Friedkin’s brain, sometimes thought processes occurred, and like the proverbial broken clock that went right twice a day, sometimes he was on to something. Ken didn’t like that. It undermined the authority he had fought so hard to gain.

And now…

“Um, you keep acting like you’re in charge now?”

Ken was not in the mood to have this conversation. Especially not at this moment, when he had a feeling that some kind of breach was coming.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said.

“No, I just wanna make sure that you understand that _you_ are helping _me_. I’m… in charge.”

Ken felt his bile rise.

It was deliberate. It had to be.

The one-shoulder shrug, the smile, the _words_. Just like in the beginning.

They still hadn’t discussed the soulmate thing. If things went Ken’s way, they never would. But nonetheless Friedkin appeared to understand it for what it was: not a profound game-changing connection. Not _love_. But a tool. A way to wield power. And he was now attempting to rub it in Ken’s face that he, too, had that power.

Friedkin was mostly harmless. Easily confused and malleable. But sometimes there were eerie moments, when it seemed to Ken that somewhere behind these milky blue eyes, there was someone watching the world, watching him, and that someone was still a threat.

Somehow, with tremendous effort, Ken controlled his emotions.

“Hugo,” he said, calmly, amiably, “You gave me the same clearance as you. We are equals within this program. You can’t take that away from me now.”

It was a treat to watch that smile slip off Hugo’s face, the one last vaguely positive thing that happened before shit went down.

 

* * *

 

He’d had to get rid of the bastard.

It was the rational choice to make. At this point he could run Blackwing alone, and more efficiently than with Hugo being around, a dead weight at best, and muddling everything up at worst. He could have kept Icarus, Lamia and Moloch contained, if it hadn’t been for Hugo and his sudden bout of… whatever that had been. Conscience? Whatever it was, Ken hadn’t and didn’t have time to deal with it.

A “Missing in Action” notice was attached to Supervisor Friedkin’s file, and Ken dedicated half an hour to finding out if the man had any family to notify. He located a single mother in a suburb near Phoenix and sent a kind, empathetic but faintly military-sounding email. He’d hit the right tone. It was how Hugo would’ve liked to be remembered, Ken was sure. A soldier, giving his life for a duty.

Priest had barely concealed his contempt at the news, and the staff was mostly happy to have efficient leadership now. Ken was fairly optimistic that given time, he could even charm his way into the good graces of Agent Wilson.

But the words betrayed his lie. They were still there, on his shoulder as ever, and Ken was probably imagining it, but they seemed to shine brighter than before. Sometimes he feared they would glow right through his shirt, proclaiming to all and sundry that the reports of his soulmate’s death were greatly exaggerated. Wherever that portal had spat him out, even with that giant stab wound, Hugo was somehow still alive.

Ken almost wished the words would rub off when he showered, or that one day he would just take his shirt off and see nothing there. But day after day, the words remained, almost a taunt from wherever Hugo now was.

_I’m in charge._

 

* * *

 

And somewhere, in a place beyond and beneath and in between places, Hugo Friedkin gazed into the heart of the universe.

And smiled.

 

 

 

 


End file.
